I have lived quite an eventful and unfortunate life because of my years as a homosexual in the years of Nazi authority. Being German had never been enough to promise anyone’s safety in those days, especially mine. I survived torment and abuse among other things. The concentration camps were of no help to my already unfortunate life. But, for my story to make sense, I have to take a trip back in my life: this is the story of my life.

I was fourteen. My father heard of my nights spent with my closest friend, Ivan. Ivan and I had been out doing what we usually did. We sat at the park by the lake and talked about a future that neither of us had any promises of. My heart hadn’t been told of the wrongs in life or what wasn’t supposed to be felt by it. Ivan must have been experiencing the same thing, because we only knew each other's hearts. We knew it was weird, the things we would do, and so we chose to hide it. It was late, but father was probably still lying on the couch unconscious from his sips from the bottle of his one true love since the loss of my mother. Ivan and I got bored of talking, and took to our usual passtime.

We heard the sound of footsteps quickly approaching. Scrambling to recuperate ourselves, I felt a tug at my collar and I lost the ground beneath me for a moment, landing a few feet away. The unknown person that had snatched me up was only a silhouette in the cascade of the moonlight. I only remember hearing Ivan yelling “STOP!” as I saw the silhouette striking blows on him. I found my composure once again, and took to the individual throwing punches at them. It was clear this was a more built older man. I lost my footing for a moment, and by the time I gained it back, the man had picked me up and thrown me. I hit my head on something that sent me into blackness.

I awoke still lying by the lake in the morning in complete shambles. It took me a moment to recollect where I was. Once I did, I jumped up and went straight to where our attacker had taken his beating on Ivan and me. I found no Ivan, but I found a few bloody spots in the dirt. This discovery brought tears to my eyes, and I fell to the ground for a few moments and wept. I gained my composure and took to the streets in hopes of finding Ivan. I went to his house, visited all of our friends’ houses, and even checked out the cinema. In the end, I couldn’t find him anywhere. There was nowhere else near that I would assume him to go. I finally gave up on finding him, leaving our friends up-to-date on his condition and asking them to keep an eye out for him, finally heading home to deal with my father.

I walked into the house half expecting to feel the strike of my father. However, there was not only a lack of the expected strikes, but also a lack of my father in general. He was absent from the home, which was strange for him. I shrugged off my wonder since I saw that it was nearly 11 A.M. already. He could’ve gone out to the market at this time. I decided to go wash up and change out of my filthy clothes. I went to the kitchen and made something to put on my stomach, as it felt like it had been days since I had eaten. Every bite I took made me drift off into my thoughts - I could still hear Ivan screaming, and the thud of the silhouette beating into his body. Suddenly, I couldn’t bear to take another bite, lunging for the bin because my food couldn’t stay down anymore. I just wanted to sleep at this point, so I went to lay down.

Something came crashing down in my room, startling me awake. It was my father, with crates in tow, tossing them down as he advised me to get out of his house. I didn’t understand the terms, so I apologized for staying out all night, saying: “I was only out with friends!”

He just yelled at me and continued to evict me from the house. Upon investigating the situation, I noticed that his knuckles were bruised and his clothes were mucked and shredded as though he had gotten into a fight at the pub. The situation, along with his beaten-up condition, could only mean one thing; he was the silhouette from last night.

I defended myself. “Father, I don’t know what you think was going on last night, but Ivan and I wer-...”

He cut me off: “I think you were out with that boy doing unholy things - it was clear to me when I got to you boys and you were without a belt and your trousers were loosened.”

I was shocked and petrified all at the same time. It felt as though my feet and my mouth had been puttied, and there was no chance of them moving. Eventually, my father just pushed me back to my room to pack up whatever I could, giving me 15 minutes. I scrambled to pack up what I could in the time I was allotted. Fifteen minutes flew by, and only two crates had clothes and my other belongings packed into them. My father grabbed one of them and dragged me to the door, pushing me into the street and chucking the crate out with me.

Once again, feet stuck in place, staring at the home I had known my whole life, I realized that all of this was gone and that there was no way of getting it back. The world moved along as though mine hadn’t just been shattered. I was now homeless, and didn’t know where I could go. Ivan was still missing, making staying with him not an option. I had no close family, which even so, my father would have informed them of everything, for he was quite a gossip.

The next few days, I decided to go to the park and stick around in some bushes, which became a problem for some visitors, who reported my presence to the police. This caused me to be banned from the park indefinitely. They asked if they needed to take me home: I told them it was close by, and that I had a small altercation with the family but was planning on going back. Getting myself situated, I grabbed everything and went in the direction of Ivan's house to see if he had gotten home yet. The walk was exhausting, as I had gone without food for nearly three days at this point, leaving me with no energy.

Arriving at the doorstep, I was greeted by Ivan's mother. She said, “I saw you and thought that it was Ivan finally coming home. Have you heard anything of his whereabouts? Do you know if he is okay?”

This was all I needed to hear to know that he wasn’t here. I asked to come in and eat. She welcomed me in, and we went to the kitchen where she began to cook up a meal.

“I was coming here to find Ivan myself. He hasn’t been around as of late. My days haven’t been that good the past few days. I am homeless because Pa and I got into an argument and he kicked me to the curb,” I said, breaking the silence between us.

“Oh dear Horst, where have you been sleeping?” she asked, genuinely concerned.

“Why, I have been sleeping in some bushes at the park. I had to leave today because the police banned me, and I thought that I would come check again to see if Ivan had come back home.”

I assume she was just hurt and in a form of panic. “Horst, I haven’t seen Ivan in days. The last time I saw him, he was leaving with you and that Heinrich. Is there something you aren’t telling me? Did Ivan tell you he was running away?”

I felt accused, and slightly like I had been betrayed in some way: “Ivan and I were at the park, just sitting by the lake tossing stones and talking. I don’t know who it was, but someone attacked us and I was afraid to tell you - out of fear.”

I burst into tears, which seemed to be a theme of the past several days. She broke into tears of her own and pulled a chair up to console me, telling me to calm down and explain anything about the night and the person who had attacked us.  I strayed from the truths, and just gave her the details that I knew she needed to hear.

I ended up being allowed to put my crates away in the closet of Ivan’s room and wash up, which was much-needed. Ivan’s mother asked me to go out searching for Ivan again. Embarking on my journey, belly full, I started with our friends’ houses first. They all said they hadn’t seen him yet. Heinrich suggested that I go check the local hospitals to see if he had found his way to one of them for treatment.  This was a great idea, and I headed directly to the nearest hospital.

The first hospital was small, and when I asked if there was an Ivan or unnamed patient, I was told there was no Ivan on the registry, but that I could check the beds to see if one of the nameless patients was him. This led to no luck in finding Ivan. I repeated the process with two or three more hospitals, all with no luck. Finally, I came to the last hospital and asked the registry if there was an Ivan Fischer in one of their beds. I was not dismissed this time; instead, I was taken to one of the wards and pointed to a bed. I rushed over and surely enough, Ivan was lying there. Black and blue was his face, as well as his chest and arms. I gave him a nudge on the shoulder and he winced his eyes before opening them.

He was conscious, and he sat up and just looked at me.

“Ivan, I have been looking for you and checking for you for days now. I got kicked out of Pa’s house because of how late we were out. I was welcomed by your mother to live at your house,” I told him.

“I know who attacked me, Horst, and I can’t have you living in my house with me. Your monster of a father may come and attack me and my family for condoning your lifestyle. I can’t believe you convinced me to do all those things with you. Look at my body and tell me that what we were doing was normal.”

I looked down at my feet ashamed of myself.

“Look at me, Horst!” I looked him in the eyes, because seeing his bruises were horrifying to see. I told him I was truly sorry about what happened to him, but that it wasn’t my fault, before turning and leaving.

I got back to the Fischer household and told Ivan’s mother I found him, as well as where he was. She asked me if I wanted to walk with her to the hospital and help him home. I told her I was tired and needed to rest before I collapsed. After seeing her off as she left, giddy with excitement knowing her son was alive, I hurriedly went and grabbed my things, bagging up some food from the icebox and leaving as quickly as possible. At the hospital was the last I saw of Ivan, my one and only love.

The years that followed brought nothing but loss for me. I lost my friends, as they all were influenced to rid me from their lives by Ivan. I left the city to go to my aunt's home, only to discover that she had passed and that her house was abandoned, leaving me with a sheltered environment to sneak in and out of. This shelter lasted only a short while, as my cousin called the police and had me arrested for trespassing. The police brought my things along and with my release, I was once again on the streets with my rags.

There was one way that I made money, and it was a risky way at that: I went to cinemas, public parks, and bathrooms, and met with men. Moments later, I typically walked away pennies richer and having money for my meal. Sometimes, I would be taken to their homes. I knew the price I had to pay in hopes of a comfortable place to sleep, and maybe some cigarettes and money. It was a shameful life.

I tried to go back to my father’s home, but with hesitation and reluctance each time. I knew that the moment I stepped up to the door I would feel the same way I did the day I left: motionless. Once, I did make it to the door. I knocked, and there was no response.

Knock, knock, knock.

This time, I could hear footsteps from inside. A strange woman answered the door.

“Hello, how may I help you?” she asked.

“I am Horst - my father is Kurt, is he here?”

She looked concerned for a moment. “Aye, he is. I am his wife. But, Horst, you mustn’t be caught here. Kurt can’t even bear to speak your name; it is a disgrace to him,” she said matter-of-factly.

I simply left with my head held high.

I was arrested months later with charges of male prostitution after accusations to the Gestapo. This brought me to spending four years in prison before later being transferred to a labor camp in Poland called Majdanek. In this place, I was forced to wear a pink triangle on my linens, and piled into cots with several other men, women, and children. There were faces that came and went, some there longer than others. Some were taken to what was referred to as a shower, but as we later learned, this was a gas chamber. Men bearing the mark of the pink triangle were constantly ostracized and beaten, sometimes to death.

My time there nearly ended with my lack of food, the beatings I received, the illnesses that came, and the offers to shower. I felt almost unlucky anytime I survived, or at least that was my mindset. Fear was always running through me, running a million paces a minute. Afraid that a guard would come and tell me it was my turn to wash up. Fearing  that I actually would get out of here. Life in Majdanek had been only slightly different from my life on the outside since I was kicked from Pa’s house. Not knowing where my next meal was coming from, having no way of washing up, and being constantly afraid.

I would say it had been about two years that I was stuck in Majdanek when the strangest of things happened, and possibly the best thing in my life. I was out doing work as a new load of prisoners was being piled into the camp. I typically kept my head down and paid attention only to my work. One thing I heard caught my attention as the new prisoners were being pushed and prodded on. A loud “STOP!” erupted from one of them, and it was so distant - but so particular - that I shot my head up and surely enough, Ivan was among the newest arrivals to the camp. Seeing him was a happy reminder that at some point, I was considered human. Another thing was that I hated he was here, now being guaranteed pain and suffering.

By the next day, in passing, I had seen Ivan several times, keeping my head down as much as possible. One time, I did look up at him, and we made eye contact. I thought there was no chance of him recognizing me, but he threw up his hand with a shy little greeting in our passing. This brought a strange warmth to my cheeks - not that anyone could tell with the amount of filth covering my face.

It took a couple of weeks for me to gain any kind of courage to speak to Ivan. Finally, one day I saw him by the compost heap. I approached him reluctantly, considering the last time I had spoken to him. He looked up at me and when he turned, I saw the pink triangle on his chest.

“Ivan, what misfortune brings you here?” I asked.

“Horst! Pleasure seeing a kind face in this hellacious inferno,” Ivan remarked. “I am here because of Heinrich. I guess telling everyone to stop speaking to you and explaining why came to backfire. Heinrich was arrested and given a chance by the Gestapo to shorten and lighten his sentence for reporting anyone he possibly could. He reported me for homosexuality, and they hunted me down.”

I stood with Ivan and talked about how life had treated us so similarly. It was unfair how there was only pain and suffering, it seemed. We were now together once again under these unfortunate circumstances. Upon our signal to go back to our camp, we knew the chance of us seeing each other wasn’t guaranteed. We departed with a kiss and went to the camp. Our meetings became regular after that, however.

I’m not completely sure of how much later it was that the camp was liberated by the Soviet Army. I just know that the day we were set free, I searched for Ivan with absolute happiness about our release, going directly to where he was camped. I couldn’t find him, as there were so many people scrambling and finding their friends and relatives. Finally, much to my despair, I found him. He was lying on the ground, cold, black and blue, swollen beyond recognition besides the pink triangle on his arm. There was one assumption to make: he had been beaten and killed by one of the guards. I just sat by him and felt nothing but hatred for my father, considering the last time I had seen Ivan like this was because of him.

It was official that there was nothing left for me in my previous lifestyle. I left Europe and escaped to the United States. To this day, it was the greatest and most positive thing I had ever done. I still have photos of Ivan that I found after visiting and breaking into his mother’s home before I left Europe. I have a home and a new partner that I am less fearful of loving. But, I know that life is full of disappointment: Ivan was just the most prevalent one in my lifetime. There will forever be an empty spot in my soul from the times I lost Ivan. From the times I lost the innocence of my childhood. From the times I lost my life.